


Respite

by yeaka



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20789624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Trevor’s mind gets away from him.





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Travelers or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The park is bright and beautiful, full of fresh grass, clean water, and birds that sound blissfully oblivious to the world crumbling around them. Trevor could breeze through it all day. If protocol omega ever kicked in, he thinks he could handle it. He’d miss the missions and a sense of _purpose_, but he can still find enough good in the twenty-first to easily whittle away the rest of his days. 

In his current body, young and well trained, he could run for ages. But Philip wasn’t so lucky, and the heavy panting and wheezing gasps punch through Trevor’s peace. He finally slows his pace near a wooden bench at the side of the path. Philip grateful stops beside him, slouching down and sucking in air. Philip’s sweat right through his shirt. It clings to his broad chest, damp in the middle and under his arms. His hair’s a sticky mess that he runs his hands back through, twining it up like he’ll bind it in place, but he must’ve forgotten to bring a tie for it. When he drops his hands back to his knees, the honey brown locks tumble back down around his chiseled face. 

Trevor stares at him for a long moment, taking in every vivid detail. Then Trevor sinks into the bench. He’s breathing a little hard himself, but nothing he can’t handle. Better than his toned body, his mind is more disciplined, and he can handle longer periods of exercise. Evidently, Philip can’t. 

Philip collapses onto the bench beside him, close enough that their knees bump. Philip tosses his head onto the backrest and breathes, “You’re a tyrant.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of Trevor’s chest. He mutters, “Sorry,” even though he isn’t really. He enjoys his time with Philip immensely, and their runs are just one of the many activities that make his new life worth living. But he can handle _just sitting_ with Philip too. He can meditate or watch the ducks mill about the calm water across the neatly trimmed grass. They’re beautiful creatures. 

Philip is more so. His laboured breath cuts into Trevor’s mind, difficult and undeniable. Or maybe it’s just Trevor’s hormones acting up. They’ve grown worse since moving into the garage. He was able to handle them around Rene. They rarely trouble him around the rest of the team. But _Philip_ still gets him going some times, in a way that sifts through all his defenses. 

He hangs his head and closes his eyes to concentrate. Even in the short time and the noisy park, he should be able to meditate. But instead, he pictures Philip knelt before him, sidled up between his spread legs, looking up at him with complete trust and understanding. 

It isn’t like with Rene, or even with his wife, who he’ll always love in the back of his mind. Philip knows who he really is, knows how old he really is, or at least close enough, and Philip’s struggled through the new century with him. Philip holds the same hope and empathy, but the same doubts and difficulties. Trevor pictures Philip watching him with a passion for this new life and a want to experience _more_. 

Then he inhales too deeply and catches the musky scent of Philip’s cheap deodorant, and his mind spirals into debauchery. He thinks of Philip nuzzling into him, affectionately at first, then insistent, hands fiddling with his belt. 

Trevor sucks in a deep breath and tries to hold that mental belt in place, but it dissolves in his hands. His fly opens. Philip gives him a wide, chaste but open-mouthed kiss, eyes closed and lashes fluttering. He thinks of Philip breathing him in and shuddering with that, then opening wide. 

He thinks of sliding down Philip’s tight throat, of squeezing into Philip’s warm mouth, and luxuriating in the stretch of Philip’s wet lips. He thinks of running his hands through Philip’s gorgeous hair and drawing Philip tighter to him. He pictures the sun on Philip’s face, casting him in a golden glow, reflecting off the little round nose ring he inherited. There are so many details that add up to such a handsome man, one that Trevor’s far too old to touch but covets anyway. 

He wonders if Philip would go slow—tantalizing and appreciative, the way that Trevor likes it—or if he would rush, be sloppy and messy and quick, inexperienced but gloriously eager. Trevor wants to fuck Philip long and leisurely into the night, but he would still enjoy a harried celebration of life. He thinks he would take Philip any which way. It’s about so much more than _sex_—it’s the depth, compassion, and intellect in Philip’s character. But in the twenty-first, things are so _physical_ too, and Trevor wants to experience that—wants to hold Philip against him and revel in what they have. 

He pictures Philip swallowing him down, sucking hard around him, and himself shuddering towards the end. Even with all his years and experience, he couldn’t last long. Not against the view of Philip worshipping him and the exquisite feeling of that love. He’d reach the brink and—

A weight falls onto his shoulder, and his eyes flicker open. Philip’s hair tickles his cheek. Philip’s slumped down onto him. It sounds like Philip’s regained himself, but he still asks, “Can we take a break?”

Dry mouthed, Trevor rasps, “Yeah.”

Philip grunts, “Good,” and falls down further, shifting across the bench to rest his head in Trevor’s lap. Trevor idly threads his fingers through Philip’s hair, petting it back as fondly as he dares. Philip closes his eyes, full of trust. 

Trevor doesn’t betray that. He holds his thoughts in tighter rein and just enjoys the moment, grateful for every second.


End file.
